Gently Lovingly Quickly
by LonelyValentine
Summary: Story #3 of the "Prime's Right" series. When Optimus finds his latest intended incapacitated and tied to the berth, he struggles with the morality of the Matrix's demands.


**Gently. Lovingly. Quickly.**

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Story #3 in the "Prime's Right" series and a fill to this prompt at Tfanonkink:

REQ: Any - Optimus/Any Autobot - It's Good to be the Prime, Heat Cycle 2016-07-19 07:35 pm

Any Autobot that goes into heat, once found, is sent to Ironhide to be washed, polished, oiled, and then sent off to Optimus' berth for the night. Hopefully the mech emerges the next morning sparked up by the faction leader, who of course by virtue of the matrix is the fittest, strongest, wisest mech out there. It makes sense for him to be the one siring new sparks.

I'd love to see various Autobots being prepared by Ironhide (or some other lieutenant) and then placed in Optimus' berth to await him. Some could be scared. Some could be excited. Some could be unwilling for various reasons (and Ironhide might have to give them some sort of sedative or even physically restrain them). Some could be so excited they can't even wait and go out looking for the Prime, flinging themselves upon him demanding their turn RIGHT NOW!

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I don't own the characters; Hasbro does. I've only exploited them for entertainment purposes.

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Optimus' arousal had been growing since receiving the message Ironhide had sent, informing him that an intended awaited him in his berth. It had begun with a barely noticeable twitching in his interfacing equipment and a warmth in the dual cores of the Matrix housing and his spark chamber. The sensations and desire had built steadily through the evening, until it had reached a near painful peak on that final walk home to his quarters. The twitching had by then grown into a rather distracting ache accompanied by a dreadful throb in his spark as the Matrix goaded him into his duty to the faction.

But on entering his berthroom that powerful arousal had plunged into nothing.

Normally he expected to find his mates in one of three positions. This intended had found a fourth.

Most sat on the edge of the berth, either clutching themselves in nervousness or leaning back on their arms trying to look appealing and available. The expectant.

Others would be lying on their back in the center of the berth, staring at the ceiling. The dutiful sacrifice. For this reason Optimus had asked for a crystal window to be installed over the berth to give these mechs something to focus on as they waited. The result was an intricate affair of thousands of crystal prisms set into a metal matrix—the pattern both complicated and yet comfortable at the same time, the hard angles of the prisms guided into distractingly sensuous curving lines.

The rest lay on their fronts or their sides, deep in recharge. The sleeper.

This mech however was neither an expectant, nor a dutiful sacrifice, nor a sleeper. He'd been tied spread-eagled on his back across the berth. A prisoner transport collar had been locked around his neck, effectively rendering him deaf, blind, unable to move quickly, and unable to send or receive communication signals.

Stunned, Optimus stood next to the berth looking down at the mech. Had he been that unwilling, that Ironhide had to go to such extremes in readying him for mating?

The mech was on the smaller side with a sleek racer's build. His face, unguarded, was seriously handsome, though a visor hid his optics. His plating was painted a dramatic mix of black and white with touches of blue. Optimus quickly looked him up in Elita One's registry, finding the intended to be a fairly recent recruit, having only been with the faction some two vorns, and despite having started with the artillery division he'd been appropriated by Special Op's and was halfway through training as an agent. No wonder Ironhide had gone to such extremes in restraining this unwilling mech. The usual pep-talk and promises and sedative-laced high-grade would have done nothing.

Optimus shuddered. If it weren't for the fact that the Matrix was already reaching for the beautiful young mech spread out on his berth he probably could have stepped away. He could feel the force inside of him straining through his circuits, demanding to be let out, demanding that the Prime's spark be let out to join with that of the helpless thing in front of him. He cringed as he found himself sitting on the berth and his hands reaching out to explore and embrace.

A tiny whimper was the response of the bound mech to his touch.

This was just wrong. If a mech truly didn't want to undergo the Prime's Right ceremony, it wasn't fair to force him, was it? Yes, it was in every recruit's contract that mating with the Prime was a likely possibility if he or she went into heat. The Matrix—the piece of Primus that resided within him—demanded sacrifices as well as communion. And while there had been reluctant cases before none had required such restraints.

The tiny whimper became a gasp as Optimus' hand drifted across the mech's chest, tentatively exploring for the manual catches that would release chest plating.

Gently. Lovingly. Quickly. While he couldn't stop the will of Primus at this point it would be the fastest and least traumatic way out of this situation. The Matrix would be satisfied. The contract would be fulfilled. He'd have done his part. The intended would have done his part.

Optimus' hand continued to slide over the mech's chest, smoothing over patches of white and bands of color. In response the mech continued to whimper quietly, occasionally gasping a response as sensitive places were found. But when Optimus's hand roved lower, brushing over the mech's black groin plating, the small thing cried out and pulled against the woven plastic straps keeping him in place. Optimus cringed again. Gently, lovingly, quickly, he told himself again.

His prisoner seemed to agree, for when Optimus' hand brushed along the same route again the heavy plate sheltering his valve retracted, baring the silver rim and bright blue mesh within.

Suddenly now, that lack of interest reversed overwhelmingly. The sight and scent of the bright blue folds, sopping with lubricant, a quartet of white bio-lights winking at him, had immediately and painfully restored Optimus' desire. He suddenly burned with need and his spike threatened to break loose whether he wanted it to or not. The Matrix pulsed all the harder.

Bright blue. If there was a color sexier than bright blue he'd yet to see it.

Optimus lifted a leaden hand and rubbed a finger against the folds of mesh before sliding a couple of them inside, finding the mesh as slick and as plush as it looked.

"Please," the mech sobbed, his hips lifting from the berth ever so slightly.

Gently. Lovingly. Quickly.

Optimus stared down, watching his fingers slide in and out of the wetness, watching the small mech writhe against his berth, watching as black steel denta pinched a silver lip. Such a lovely creature this one was.

Skip the foreplay. Go right to it. There was no question that the black and white mech was in heat or that he was ready for mating.

Optimus released his spike and the huge silver length sprung free, sparking with charge and the will of the Matrix. The pressure in his chest was immense. He withdrew his fingers and quickly mounted the prisoner, his spike sliding inside as easily as his fingers had despite the mech's slightly smaller size.

The prisoner responded with a moan of pleasure and release, the heat overriding his resistant attitude.

Optimus moaned himself as the valve welcomed him. Damn it felt good. Why did this one have to be so unwilling? He could easily take this one to his berth, heat or no.

Do the deed and let him go. Don't drag it out.

The smaller mech was already tightening around him, and Optimus thrust in deep even strokes to concentrate the charge. If he'd tried to stop at this point he couldn't have. The Matrix was throbbing painfully inside of him, trying to get to the other mech's spark. It wanted this beautiful mech as much as he did. Optimus opened his chest allowing it to flare out, dragging his own spark along with it as it sought its prize.

The intended complied as sacred energy forced itself against his field and the underside of the prominent chest spread open, the mech arching back as much as he could in the restraints to expose himself as much as he could, his reproductive protocols in full control now. A spark chamber with additional shielding, a modification made to most Special Op's agents, pushed forward and spiraled open, revealing the vulnerable soul inside.

Optimus overloaded as forces collided in a near explosion of light and energy and emotion, hot transfluid jetting from his spike to fill the open and primed gestation chamber of the mech beneath him. His cry shook the windows and he could not help but force himself hard against the black and white mech in spite of having decided to go at it gently, lovingly, and quickly.

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Regathering himself, Optimus found the mech beneath him shivering.

"I'm sorry," he whispered despite knowing the words would be unheard. "I'm so sorry about this. But it's over now." He could not help but kiss the trembling thing on the helm. The stubby sensor horns twitched, trying desperately to gather information through the damping of the collar.

Optimus closed up his chest and withdrew from the intended, a small gush of transfluid and lubricant following. For a moment he stared down at the bright blue folds of mesh, realizing that the other mech had not overloaded. It wasn't necessary for conception—only a kindness or a courtesy or a show of prowess in the berth. But no. This session was over. He'd let this one go and just end it before the Matrix decided to try again.

He untied the mech's arms first, and when the small frame sat up, Optimus worked on releasing the prisoner transport collar. The mech was so beautiful, even in his helpless state. Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn't this one have been willing?

The collar unlocked when Optimus entered his security code, and he carefully removed the heavy construct.

The mech's optics flickered to life and he turned to stare at Optimus, mouth hanging open.

"There. I just have to untie your feet and you can leave. I'm sorry it had to be this way, but it's over now," Optimus apologized shamefully. There needed to be some 'out' for the unwilling.

"Over? As in you're done?" asked the intended in a thick Polyhexian accent.

Optimus went to work on the straps holding down the mech's feet.

"Yes. And I'm sorry. We're going to see if in future we can avoid this sort of thing."

"Oh," said the mech, sounding almost disappointed. "I just thought that it would last longer. Ironhide said that you usually went about five or six rounds." The tone of voice was now definitely disappointed. "But if you're not up to it, I understand."

Optimus froze, having just freed the feet. "You... wanted it this way?" He looked down at the strap in his hands. "The collar... tied up?"

"Hell yeah. Didn't they tell you? My team was supposed to tell you."

"No one told me anything. I just got the message from Ironhide that there was a mech in heat waiting for me when I got home. He said nothing about you being restrained."

The Special Op's agent laughed saucily. "He wouldn't tie me up. He was all 'Look, just lie there and do whatever the Prime wants,' so a couple of my buddies helped out."

"They came in here before I did and tied you up. Used the collar?"

"Well yeah, since grumpy-gaskets out there wouldn't."

"So, you weren't unwilling?"

"Heck no. I just like it better this way. Way better. So you thought that I was...?" He tipped his head back and laughed again. "Well no wonder you thought I was being forced into this. I'm going to wring the diodes of whoever didn't send you the message of what to expect. There were two of us with clearance high enough to get a message straight through to you."

"Two of us? How many of you were in here to, ah..." He looked down again at the restraining strap in his hands. "To prepare this?"

The mech gave him a lopsided smile. "Not telling." And then he flopped forward and grinned lustily at the Prime. "So now that you know I am wanting this, and that you're not raping me, are you interested in living up to Ironhide's suggestion of five or six rounds?"

Optimus stood up, staring aghast at the cocky little mech on his berth. This agent would go far in the ranks. And then he tossed aside the long strap in his hands and leapt upon the mech enthusiastically, pinning his wrists above his head with a single hand and using the rest of his weight to restrain him.

"Mmm, much better," crooned Jazz, his optics powering down as the Prime went for his neck.

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 **The End**

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Thank you for reading! Honk if you love Optimus/Jazz as much as I do! Leave a favorite if you love Optimus/Jazz!

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The "Prime's Right" series in G1 Chronological Order:

Story #6: "Other Options" - Optimus/ Sideswipe-Sunstreaker

Story #3: "Gently. Lovingly. Quickly." - Optimus/ Jazz

Story #1: "More Than Okay" - Optimus/ Bumblebee

Story #2: "Second Place" - Optimus/ Mirage

Story #4: "Want It Now" - Optimus/ Grimlock

Story #7: "Inevitably" - Rodimus./Jazz

Story #5: "Divine Intervention" - Rodimus/ Silverbolt


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